October 7, 2009

my father would say.Try not to be so God-damnedcon-spic-u-ouswhen we’d go out togetheranywhere we might be seen by others,meaning even though he thought I might be gayhe didn’t want the rest of the world to knowit was a possibility,meaning, Take off that damned pink shirt,meaning, Don’t stand like that, one hipthrust to the side, arms across my chest,meaning, Would it hurt to put your hairup under a cap now and then,meaning, Get your nose out of thoseGod-damned books for a while,meaning, Forget all those daydreamingbleeding heart liberal ideasthat don’t have anything to dowith the real world,meaning, At least talk in a deeper voiceif you have to say anything at all,meaning, And for God’s sake don’t tell anybodyyou write poetry.

When he first asked, when I was 15,I thought long and hardbefore refusing to answer,asking, instead, why it should matter.

And it ate him up for the next 3 years,not knowing. Not that it was always easy,convincing my mother not to say anything,keeping my girlfriends awayfrom the house when he was there.

But it was worth it,keeping him off balance,unsure if he could dismissa whole group of peoplewithout condemning his own son,making his discomfortthe most conspicuous thing about him.